


will you give all you can give

by fromthewildwood



Series: the world about to dawn [1]
Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthewildwood/pseuds/fromthewildwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis arrive at Lookout Mountain for the battle between the Old and New Gods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	will you give all you can give

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snakejolras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakejolras/gifts).



They came to Lookout Mountain from all over the United States.

They did not come idly or without great thought, but nonetheless they came. Those that could drove, or flew, or took secret paths; those that couldn’t did what they had to – hitchhiked and walked and stowed-away and bent the will of mortals blind to the storm gathering overhead.

The sky was bruised and sallow as a week-old corpse and the climb that lay before them was a blanket of fog pierced only by the raking branches of the pines that gripped the slope. Huddled around flaming petrol-drums and Boy-Scout campfires, they cast frequent glances at the cloud-crowned summit as old friendships were renewed and past rivalries put aside.

A young man on whose marble cheeks the dirt and sweat of the hitchhiker had the look of blasphemy pulled up on an old pushbike and stopped for a moment, staring up at the  _tengu_  circling and cawing raucously overhead as he shrugged burned tatters of wine and old blood velvet around him with a terrible scowl.

 Down the road an old bus pulled up and a fierce and dark-haired woman stepped out followed by a fair man with delicate hands and gentle eyes, well-worn lab coat flapping in the slight breeze and a battered guitar case slung over one shoulder. Seating themselves on a pair of tree-stumps he tuned the guitar and before long his voice rose thin and reedy through the chill morning air as she mechanically stripped and cleaned a pair of silver handguns and bitterly watched where a young  _sidhe_ lord smiled warmly as his handsome young companion fawned over a fey and shining lady.

A half-millennium old scrivener posthumously attributed with an interest in the Great Work left his conversation in archaic Greek with a family of three women working away on a quilt to pass the time and began to discuss philosophy with the Rabbi on his left, a fist-sized stone winking and gleaming at his throat.

A delicate fine-boned man stepped out of a taxi and picked his way across the field with the help of a snake-handled cane to join the guitar-player and his sister, his own lab coat shining and immaculate.

Mocking the expectant hush with carefree laughter and a twisted smile a slim and wild-haired man staggered out of an ancient car plastered with vintage stickers, reclining on a nearby rock as he drained bottle after bottle of strong dark wine and lamented each time his failure to find the promised wisdom at the bottom.

The air was tense with the storm that was yet to break but none of them moved to climb the mountain. They all knew it was not time.

Not yet.


End file.
